“I can explain that. He intends to become an American citizen. Some time ago he became the owner of a fine cattle ranch in Montana.” “Well, I'll be tinker-dammed, too!” exploded Cutty. “A young man with these ideas in his head ought eventually to become a first-rate citizen. What do you say?” “I am considerably relieved. His forbears, the blood--” “His mother was a healthy Italian peasant--a famous singer in her time. His fortune, I take it, was his inheritance from her. She made a fortune singing in the capitals of Europe and speculating from time to time. She sent the boy, at the age of ten, to England. Afraid of the home influence. He remained there, under the name of Hawksley, for something like fourteen years, under the guardianship of this fellow Gregory. Of Gregory I know positively nothing. The young fellow is, to all purposes, methods of living, points of view, an Englishman. Rathbone, who was educated at Oxford, met him there and they shared quarters. But it was only in recent years that he learned the identity of his friend. In 1914 the young fellow returned to Russia. Military obligations. That's all I know. Mighty interesting, though.” “I am much obliged to you. The white elephant becomes a normal drab pachyderm,” said Cutty. “Still something of an elephant on your hands. I see. Bring him here if you wish.” “And sic the Bolshevik at your door.” “That's so. You spoke of his having been beaten and robbed. Bolshevik?” “Yes. An old line of reasoning first put into effect by Oliver Cromwell. The axe.” “The poor devil!” “Fact. I'm sorry for him, but I wish he would blow away conveniently.” “Rathbone says he's handsome, gay, but decent, considering. Humanity is being knocked about some. The hour has come for our lawyers to go back to their offices. Politics must step aside for business. We ought to hang up signs in every state capitol in the country: 'Men Wanted--Specialists.' A steel man from Pittsburgh, a mining man from Idaho, a shipowner from Boston, a meat packer from Omaha, a grain man from Chicago. What the devil do lawyers know about these things--the energies that make the wheels of this country go round? By the way, that Miss Conover was a remarkably pretty girl. She seemed to be a bit suspicious of me.” “Good reasons. That chap went to Gregor's--Gregor is his name--and was beaten, robbed, and left for dead. She saved his life.” “Good Lord! Does she know?” “No. And what's more, I don't want her to. I am practically her guardian.” “Then you ought to get her out of that roost.” “Hang it, I can't get her to leave. I'm not legally her guardian; self-appointed. But she has agreed to leave in May.” “I'm glad you dropped in. Command me in any way you please.” “That's very good of you, considering.” “The war is over. We'd be a fine pair of fools to let an ancient grudge go on. They tell me you've a wonderful apartment on top of that skyscraper of yours.” “Will you come to dinner some night?”